Wandering Through Darkness
by rhead-a-holyc
Summary: He must have done this a hundred times already: walked these streets and flittered the darkened alleys. Implied gore.


Slipping out of the Shrieking Shack was far more difficult than getting into it from Hogwarts. The knot was the Whomping Willow's weak spot, after all, but the Shrieking Shack didn't have a weak spot despite its misleading exterior. Housing a werewolf was a tough job that allowed few weaknesses. Having too many weaknesses would be dangerous, as would having only one exit; even if the Marauders had never found them.

But the Marauders had focused their attention on physical exploration and hadn't realized that a small tap of their wand on the furthest wall from the entrance revealed another exit. Or perhaps they had but never mentioned it with only Peter's animagus form able to crawl through it.

The exit was small but large enough for Harry to squeeze himself through it. Harry could only imagine that Dumbledore had built it for any curious student who had been unfortunate enough to find themselves occupying the same breathing space as a werewolf. There hadn't been any cases, nobody screaming about a werewolf at Hogwarts, so Harry guessed that no one knew of it. Either that or they were simply Vowed to silence by Dumbledore.

Knowing Dumbledore, it could have happened either way so Harry couldn't bother himself to try and think of it. It was nearing midnight, and the streets of Hogsmeade were nearly empty. Only one or two stragglers dashed from street to street. None of them paid Harry any attention; they wouldn't remember him in the morning just like he would forget them as soon as they were out of sight.

It wasn't Harry's first time wandering Hogsmeade this late. Harry didn't know why he did it; perhaps it was the familiarity of the labyrinthine streets that had once threatened to swallow him whole and still tried to on occasion. Maybe the danger was in its familiarity: both knowing but not knowing what was behind the next corner at the same time had its own thrill.

Hermione would stick him to his bed if she knew he was putting himself in unnecessary danger, even if Harry, himself, didn't consider a nighttime stroll dangerous in the least. It wasn't as if Voldemort was going to be idly wondering the streets of Hogsmeade to stave off his own boredom. Harry thought Voldemort would sooner see the village reduced to cinders than admire the scenery.

A short woman, who vaguely reminded Harry of Neville for some reason, hurried past him. He didn't feel her brush him, but she must have because she began murmuring an apology a second later. The woman glanced up for a moment, meeting Harry's eyes, before paling rapidly.

Glancing down, Harry double-checked that his invisibility cloak wasn't rendering him to nothing but a floating head. It wasn't, but the woman was already hurrying away in a painful-looking shuffle. Harry's eyes left the woman to see if there was anything behind him that was causing her fear but shot back when the sound of her choking and gasping for breath reached his ears.

 _It's all your fault, Harry…_

Harry spun around, looking for the source of that familiar yet disconcerting voice. There wasn't supposed to be anyone who knew him in Hogsmeade tonight. No one was supposed to know about his wanderings. No one else was supposed to be here.

It all felt so _wrong_.

But it was also as familiar as his own face in the mirror. He must have done this a hundred times already: walked these streets and flittered the darkened alleys.

The trickling of liquid made the hairs at the back of his head stand on end. It didn't sound natural, and Harry knew that there had been no rain recently. A shudder ran through his body as he caught sight of a reddened river out of the corner of his eye. The moans and groans were the demure bodyguards to the river of pain and suffering. It was something out of the horror movies Dudley sometimes watched, the moments before Dudley screamed and turned the screen off.

 _You're the one who caused this…_

And suddenly the silence was broken by screams that turned Harry's own blood cold, but no, Hermione was in her dorm. She wouldn't be breaking rules like he was. He and Ron may have rubbed a little bit of their Gryffindor off on her, but she never managed to do anything stupid on her own. Harry caught a flash of familiar brown for a split-second but blinked, and it was gone.

Filled with a need to know, Harry chased after it. The violently swirling liquid at his feet was ignored in favour of confirming the identity of the woman. It shouldn't matter; it wasn't Hermione, but Harry had to know. He wasn't about to let her disappear into this madness if it truly was Hermione.

When Harry was well and truly lost, the footsteps that had led him into the street disappearing into silence, he saw a flash of red hair – Ron's. The chase began again. Harry's body continued to feel heavier and heavier, as if someone didn't want him to move, but he couldn't let that stop him from going to his best friends.

Harry was absolutely certain that they would do the same for him.

He couldn't understand why they were stopping him, where all the hands holding him back had come from. They shouldn't be holding him back! Didn't they understand that he needed to help his friends?

They were just hands, too! Harry couldn't see any bodies connected to them. Where was his wand? Maybe… maybe… Harry could feel his eyelids start to become heavy, but he couldn't sleep yet! He would have to fight this sleepiness! Wasn't that what he had been forced to do with his relatives in the early morning? He could do it again now!

Harry could stay awake! He would just have to keep fighting, or the arms would surely drown him in their blood.

Perhaps it hadn't been the best night to sneak out of his dorm… Harry thought he would be happy to hear Hermione's ranting if he got out of this alive.

…oOo…

Worry filled Hermione's features as she watched Harry toss and turn on his bed, lips forming words that no one could understand. They had only just managed to get him back into his bed with all his violent writhing. Her best friend had occupied the same bed for the past year and offered no signs of recovery; the only change in scenery was when his dreams got violent, and they were forced to bind him to his bed for his own safety, like now.

Hermione hated it. It was the potion they gave him that kept Harry's nightmares and visions in his dreams, but it also took her best friend away from her. She couldn't help Harry if he was stuck in the darkest recesses of his own mind.

Harry's nightmares, whatever they were, continued to plague his sleeping hours, and the childish mockery of her best friend filled his waking hours. Ron refused to even see Harry anymore, wanting to remember his best friend with his mind intact. Hermione couldn't find it in herself to blame Ron for wanting to do so, but she couldn't leave Harry by himself.

Even if that chances of Harry's sanity returning were miniscule, Hermione wasn't going to leave him to wake alone if she could help it.

* * *

 **Written for Quidditch League: Round 5: Wigtown Wanderers - Chaser 3**

 **Scenario: One night Harry decides to go for a stroll through Hogsmeade and runs into some very strange things along the way.**

 **Prompts: (word) Labyrinthine; (word) Demure; (word) Dangerous**

 **Written for The Hunger Games Challenge: #22**


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